Mice Scream
by Eratosthenese
Summary: One-shot. Wormtail loved his friends. He didn't want to hurt them. And when the pain had subsided, he was only vaguely aware of the Dark Mark burned into his skin...


"Hey, Pete. You gonna finish that?" asked Sirius Black, stretching, and eyeing Peter Pettigrew's uneaten Mice Scream.

Peter looked absentmindedly over at Sirius, and smiled, shaking his head. Remus Lupin and James Potter both looked worriedly over at Peter from the other side of the table, noticing that his grin didn't reach his eyes as Sirius gobbled down the Mice Scream in just under five seconds.

"You OK, Peter?" said Remus.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," said Peter, looking down at his hands as if a Muggle movie show was taking place on his palm. "Just, um … a headache is all. It'll go away."

Remus nodded slowly, not quite believing his friend.

"Well," said James, clapping his hands down on his knees. "Best be off. Lily'll get mad if I'm late tonight. It's our anniversary tomorrow." James grinned excitedly, standing up. "You all know what that means," he said, slapping Sirius on the back in a friendly manner and laughing heartily.

Remus stifled a yawn and said, "Yeah, I should get going, too. Got an Order assignment tomorrow morning."

"What are you doing?" asked James, one arm in his jacket, and fumbling for the other one.

"Oh, you know. The usual. Check ups on the stations, probably a little research on the last names that came up."

"Wonder why Dumbledore didn't call me," thought James out loud.

Sirius stood up stiffly. "Probably knew it was your and Lily's anniversary and wanted to give you the night off."

"You going, too?"

Sirius nodded.

James looked at Peter expectantly, feeling somewhat helpless.

Peter grinned sheepishly.

"Well, I'll see you all in a couple of days, then." James headed for the door and Remus called after him.

"Say 'hi' to Lily for me!"

James held up his hand in acknowledgment and the door shut behind him as he left the Rum and Monkey Pub.

"Right, then mates," said Remus. "You guys leaving soon, too?"

Sirius and Peter nodded.

"See you tomorrow morning then, bright and bloody early."

"Not a night owl, I see, Moony?"

Remus shot Sirius a menacing glare. "Full moon in two days."

Sirius looked humble as Remus left the pub with a final wave "good-bye" and Peter got up to leave too.

"Hey, Peter," said Sirius, getting up after Peter. "I actually wanted to talk to you."

"What's up, Padfoot?" said Peter, sounding remarkably like James.

"You just, well, you seem out of it, lately, and – I just – wanted to make sure you – you're _alright_." Sirius ended somewhat lamely, obviously uncomfortable.

"Sirius," said Peter in an uncharacteristically confident manner. "I'm fine."

Sirius raised an eyebrow in doubt, but slapped Peter's shoulder and left the pub, leaving Peter behind, still starring blankly at where Sirius had just been standing.

It was true that something had been bothering him. He had received dozens of owls from anonymous blackmailers, threatening to reveal his unregistered animagus abilities if he didn't join them. The Deatheaters.

Threatening to hurt his friends.

Threatening to _kill_ them.

He couldn't see a life without Remus …

… without Sirius …

… without _James _…

The Marauders were what was important to him. He collapsed into the chair beneath him, his hand loosely clutching his bottle of Butterbeer. He would soon need something stronger. Much stronger; a Firewhisky, for example.

His thoughts, however, were interrupted by a small _pop_ and a dark hooded figure suddenly appeared before him. Peter sat bolt upright, completely at attention. "The time for your decision, Pettigrew," said the hooded figure.

"I'll never join you," said Peter timidly, looking down.

He was a Gryffindor.

He wouldn't give in to simple threats.

"Have you forgotten our last letter?" said the figure in a voice that made Peter want to lunge out at him, but he restrained himself.

He was a Gryffindor.

Not stupid.

"No," said Peter simply, his grip on the bottle tightening.

A slight twitch of the Deatheater's hand and an image of James, Sirius and Remus appeared, all of them laughing. Peter's hand inched towards it longingly.

The pub was starting to empty. It was almost midnight.

As Peter's stubby fingers closed in around the edge of the picture, however, it disappeared and the Deatheater laughed.

"The Dark Lord is powerful, Pettigrew. He doesn't have patience. If we don't come back with a new recruit, _you_, I can assure you—" The Deatheater leaned in menacingly. "—he will come down and _personally_ attend to your little friends."

Tears started building up in his already watery eyes.

Why did they want him? It was because he was the weakest link, the flaw in the Order of the Phoenix. Each and every Auror in the Order had been as carefully chosen as the disciples of Christ, and Peter had only been accepted through the help and mentoring of his friends, and here he was.

Crying.

Failing.

Losing.

No.

He was a Gryffindor.

He _was_ a bloody Gryffindor.

The Deatheater gripped his arm and a searing pain shot through Peter, like iron. The pub was empty. The bartender was already in the back, closing up. The hooded man's wand was pointed at Peter.

He knew what was coming next.

"_Crucio!_" shouted the man.

He didn't know how long the pain lasted, but when it had subsided, he was only vaguely aware of the Dark Mark burned into his skin …

… and the fact that he had asked for the tattoo himself.


End file.
